


All Roads Lead

by belantana



Category: Spooks | MI-5
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-20
Updated: 2011-09-20
Packaged: 2017-10-24 00:40:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/256920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belantana/pseuds/belantana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tariq is worried. [spoilers to 10.01.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Roads Lead

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [@eljay](http://belantana.livejournal.com/69534.html).

Later, Tariq tried again. "I mean, he's _really_ good."

Dimitri dragged his eyes away from Erin's desk a moment after it was already obvious that he wasn't listening. "Who's really good?"

"Calum."

"Ah. So you said." Dimitri leaned back in his chair with a grin. "Not getting a little crush, are you?"

"What? _No._ That's not what I meant."

Erin got up from her desk and power-marched across the room. Dimitri nonchalantly swung around in his chair to turn his back on her, but Tariq could see him watching the reflection on his monitor. He sighed and gave up.

"You have plans tonight?"

"Depends," Dimitri said, which was what he always said.

"Want to punch some Octabrains in the face? I'm almost up to the Cycloid Emperor."

He waited patiently for Erin to walk back to her desk and Dimitri to regroup his focus. Dimitri considered.

"Okay."

 

The next morning, he tried Ruth.

"Calum's really good."

"Is he?" Ruth muttered, shuffling papers.

"Yeah. Like a genius or something." Tariq paused. "That's where you usually say that I'm a genius too."

Ruth smiled, but didn't look up. "Your genius is acknowledged."

"Cheers. Yours likewise."

"Most gracious."

It was a little game they had, but Ruth was still not looking at him. Tariq attempted an offhand laugh. "Should I be worried?"

"Worried?" She glanced up, smiling brightly at a point just over his shoulder. "Oh Tariq of course not, don't be silly. Sorry, I just have to rush these files back to Registry – "

Tariq watched her hurry through the pods. He kicked sullenly at his desk leg.

 

Finally, he braved Erin. "I was thinking, if you've a minute this afternoon?"

"I don't know if I've a minute this afternoon, terrorism doesn't tend to run on schedule."

Tariq let her have it, because if the humour of previous Section Chiefs was anything to go by, she probably thought it was funny. "Well, I was hoping you could sit down with Calum and me. You know, talk over our division of roles."

"Oh? Is he not working out?"

"No, he's great, I just meant, for, you know – for clarity."

"I don't like to be an authoritarian boss, Tim. I'm sure you can work it out between yourselves."

"It's Tariq," said Tariq, thinking of Beth, who hadn't even had a chance to say goodbye before being escorted from the premises.

"Of course." Erin waved a hand. "Forget my own head if it wasn't screwed on."

Tariq waited, because Erin was about the least absent-minded person he had ever met with the exception of Ros, and maybe there was a dubious punchline coming. But she gave him another expectant smile, slightly less bright, and no, she really thought he was that stupid, and now she would like him to go back to his corner and share his computers with Calum like a good boy thank you kindly.

 

He was not surprised when an elderly man in a tie and raincoat joined him on the bench by the Thames that evening. He tried to make his internal battle less obvious by pretending to be exasperated at a message on his phone, but all he succeeded in doing was feeling like an idiot.

"Troubles?" the stranger asked mildly, taking a crumpled paper bag from his coat.

What the hell, Tariq thought, just go with it. As if there was such a thing as a coincidence any more. He put the phone away.

"Should I be worried?" he asked.

The man tugged some dry bread from the bag and started to crumble it into pieces. A nearby duck cocked its head in interest. "Do you think you should be?"

Tariq threw up his hands. "I don't know what to think! I don't know what's going on. One morning out of the blue it's hi Tariq, this is Calum – " should he be using false names? screw that for a joke – "he'll be helping you with the tech stuff, I try to say, did I _need_ help? Were you unhappy with how I was running things? I mean he's really good, and there _is_ a lot of work, I don't want to be ungrateful – "

"But you're worried."

"Yes. Yes I am."

"About what?"

Tariq hesitated. What could he say? About Ruth not being able to look him in the eye? About it being the third day this week he'd woken in a cold sweat with an inexplicable, inescapable, _wholly ridiculous_ feeling of dread? He couldn't possibly say. Official secrets aside, he felt too stupid, even with a complete stranger. Even if in some way he knew that the stranger wasn't a stranger.

The first duck had rallied the troops with some sort of supersonic duck signal. They shuffled around the bench, side-eyeing the bread, which the man seemed to be sorting into pieces by size. Tariq didn't realise he'd been holding his breath until his chest started to hurt. Eventually, the silence grew long enough that he realised it was an answer. He breathed out.

"Okay," he said. "Well. What should I do? Where should I go?"

The man tossed some crumbs. The ducks zeroed in like fighter jets. "Wherever you want."

Tariq nearly laughed. "Far far away?" he suggested. He glanced across at Thames House, as if it could hear his sedition. Scotland, he thought wildly. Tripoli. Cyprus. Where was far enough?

The man shrugged. "Not necessarily."

Tariq looked at his hands. "But I have – friends there. Can I really leave them just like that?"

Malcolm stood, slowly, in the manner far older than his years. He put the empty bag back into his coat pocket and dusted his hands carefully. "That," he said, "is the hardest part of all."


End file.
